


A Port in the Storm

by espark



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Assassins' Creed Odyssey, Consent is Sexy, Developing Relationship, F/M, Poison arrows are the worst, Sexual Content, Who comes up with these wacky mercenary names?, Work-Life Balance, as birth control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espark/pseuds/espark
Summary: Kassandra couldn't help it. She kept coming back to Lykaon, until her actions put him at risk. Then an omen made her realize her mistake, but was she already too late to change fate?Inspired by:Lykaon - How do you do this? Decide who lives and who dies?Kassandra - How do you do it, Lykaon? All those lives depending on you, needing your healing and kindness?Lykaon - I think I need you Kassandra. Not to kill anybody or find anything. Just to stay with me.





	A Port in the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> For those more interested in smut, sexy times are right at the beginning and at the end of the second to last scene. The middle is angst and plot.

Kassandra couldn’t breath, her body tight as a bow string. 

Lykaon’s hand thrust inside her again and again, his thumb positioned perfectly, until she gasped, hitting her peak, as pleasure shot through her core. She rode the waves of tension and release until her breathing returned to its normal pattern. Lyakon withdrew his hand, a hand so skilled and sure, it could stitch a gaping wound as confidently as it could stoke her passion. 

“You were like a fish out of water tonight,” he said smiling, “wriggling and gasping.”

She shoved at him playfully. “If I was a fish, then you were a gluttonous pig, snorting and grunting.”

His laugh came easily and it made her ache inside, like a ship straining against an anchor.

_By the gods, not only does this man know my body inside and out, he also knows how to make me smile._

“I should be going,” she said. She shouldn’t get accustomed to such luxury and grow soft.

“So soon? Surely you can stay the night? I have some of that chestnut bread you love for breakfast.”

“I can’t. I need to leave with the evening tide.” Kassandra stretched and went over to the water jug to rinse off. “The brewer’s brother was kidnapped by pirates, and he asked me to hunt down all their ships. The best time to hunt pirates is at night.” 

“Hunting pirates? That sounds dangerous.” He stood and washed his hands and face alongside her. She could tell he was worried about her.

Lykaon sighed, “Then I will make an offering to the gods to bring you back to me safely.”

Kassandra slid out of his arms. “You don’t need to do that. I am the master of my own fate.” She hated when anyone, Oracle or otherwise, tried to influence her path. She valued her independence above all else

“But a ship obeys more than just its captain; the wind and the waves are stronger forces than human desire.”

Kassandra smiled and reached for her armor and her weapons. “Now you are a philosopher as well as a physician?”

“Why not? I’ve been studying the theories of Hippokrates. He is a great natural philosopher and physician. His work on the four humors is fascinating.” Lykaon’s excitement was undeniable as he turned and reached for a scroll. “When you are next in Argos, will you give this to him. I’ve written down my observations on black bile.” He handed her a small roll of parchment.

“Of course.” She was always fetching and carrying. Sometimes she felt like more like an armored courier than a warrior.

She tucked away the parchment and cupped his face in her hands. “Be well, and save some of that chestnut bread for me.”

***

Back on the Andrestia, Kassandra hopped the railing and took her position at the stern. Barnabas greeted her and asked, “So, where are we headed?”

“To hunt some pirates. Get as close as you can without arousing suspicion, then charge. You know the rest. Let’s try to get all of them before Eos rises above the horizon.”

“Eager to get back to the Sacred Lands of Delphi?” Barnabas asked.

“No, it's just easier to hunt pirates at night. There are fewer merchants and other vessels in the way.”

“Oh really? It seems to me the position of the sun does not influence the traffic on the sea.” A smile hid in the corners of his mouth.

“What are you getting at, Barnabas?”

“Kassandra.” He drew out her name, chiding her. “This is the fourth time since the new moon that we’ve docked at Pilgrim’s Landing and every time you dash off to the Chora of Delphi. Clearly there is something besides profit holding your interest here. Or perhaps I should say someone.”

She realized Barnabas was right. She had developed a habit of visiting Lykaon. She had taken every bounty that had involved Phokis, explored every cave and every crag in the region. Whenever she considered following Herodotus’s counsel and learning more about the spear of Leonidas, she somehow found her way back to Phokis, back to Lykaon.

She stared out at the wine dark water for a long time, too long, then spat out, “What difference does it make to you where I go and who I see?” She surprised herself at the harshness in her voice. She hadn’t meant to attack him with her words.

Barnabas softened his tone, “I was only thinking that if you were attached to a certain physician in the Chora of Delphi, you might ask him to join the crew. You recruit everyone else you run across and it might not be a bad idea to have him on board to tend to the injured after a battle.”

“No. He is no fighter. And he is the first one to tell you he is too chewy. No,” she said again, “I would not risk him on the Andrestia.”

A smile escaped Barnabas’s lips and she realized she’d just admitted her attachment to Lykaon. Embarrassed she barked, “Let’s go. Those pirates won’t wait around for us.”

Barnabas gave the orders then turned back to Kassandra. “It can be nice to have a port in the storm. Who knows, perhaps even a place to call home.”

Kassandra said nothing, but realized Barnabas was right. She’d begun thinking of Lykaon as her safe harbor, someone she could trust to offer her shelter and comfort, away from the stormy world of battle and sabotage. But a home? No, she valued her freedom too much to ever settle down. 

***

It took longer than she expected to find and sink all the pirates. A Spartan frigate got caught in the crossfire, forcing her to sink it and the other the two Spartan ships accompanying it. Fortunately it was a profitable run, even if kept her at sea a little longer than she’d anticipated.

As soon as she docked at Pilgrim’s Landing, she was tempted to run straight to Lykaon’s house. The smell of cypress boughs were strong on the evening air and she could almost smell Lykaon’s cooking, beckoning her. First, she forced herself to stop at the blacksmith and speak to the brewer. By the time she returned to the physician’s home, Helios was sinking behind the hills.

She approached the modest dwelling that doubled as Lykaon’s home and apothecary. As she was about to open the door, something shifted behind a cluster of cypress trees. She had only a moment to react as a panther leapt at her. She dodged away, only to feel the thwack of an arrow burying into her armor. Moving on instinct, she rolled away and then climbed onto the roof.

A burly warrior called out, “I’ve come for the bounty on you and I intend to be paid well.” Kassandra realized the big cat must belong to this mercenary, trained to fight by his side. 

She cursed herself for her complacency. She’d been so focused on getting to Lykaon that she’d neglected to send Ikaros ahead to scout her way. 

A sound behind Kassandra made her duck and a javelin flew over her head. “I’ll be the one to collect the bounty.”

From the roof, she scanned the area and saw a wiry man holding greasy daggers near a tree and a woman in shining bronze armor in the courtyard. She recognized them as Kyros Fire Crotch and Artemidora the Bemused. 

Two of them had been on her trail before, but this third was new. She must have sunk one too many Spartan ships last night. Fighting this new Wisker Tamer was bad enough, but three mercenaries at the same time in the middle of a town was near impossible. She quickly fired off three arrows and ducked back down.

A new thought struck her. _Where was Lykaon? Had they hurt him?_

Energy surged inside her. She forced herself not to panic, to instead focus, kill the mercenaries, and find Lykaon. 

She took down Fire Crotch with the Spear of Leonidas and sprinted to wrench it from his gurgling body. 

Both the Bemused and the Whisker Tamer were close on her heels, just as she intended. She was breathing hard, pulling herself over a boulder and up again. An arrow bounced off her helmet, but another dug into her upper arm, making her cry out in pain. Was it poisonous? She didn’t have time to worry about that now.

She positioned herself on the edge of the cliff and waited for the two mercenaries to approach. Defeating two at once would be difficult, but she didn’t have time to take them down one by one. She had to finish this and get to Lykaon. 

_Hermes, if you are listening, I beg you to show me good fortune today, for Lykaon’s sake._

Just as the Bemused struck with her spear, Kassandra parried the blow, stunning her opponent. It bought her the time she needed to step back and plant her foot on the woman’s chest, sending the mercenary sprawling over the edge. A moment later, Whisker Tamer followed the Bemused, losing his balance and tumbling over backward when Kassandra ran at the man, forcing him over the edge.

Kassandra caught her breath and looked down at the bodies. Such a waste. She’d hoped to recruit the Bemused for her crew, maybe Fire Crotch too. 

_No time to waste on regrets._

After picking over the mercenaries’ bodies for gear, she returned to Lykaon’s home. 

“Lykaon? Are you here? It’s me, Kassandra.”

The silence hit her body as hard as a mace.

Kassandra steadied her racing nerves and called for Ikaros. She would search the scene and figure out what had happened to her lover. She’d done these type of investigations before. It just took diligence to piece together the puzzle. 

Her search took little time. There was no blood in the house, which meant Lykaon had not be hurt, at least not inside. She found a half-eaten bowl of fish on the floor, suggesting someone had been interrupted during a meal. Ikaros let out a cry from above and Kassandra jogged outside. She found the spot Ikaros had seen and examined the ground. Tracks led up the hill, towards Agave’s house.  


  
***

Kassandra found Agave waiting outside and thought it ominous that Lykaon’s sister was just standing there, as if the leathery woman was expecting her.

“Where is Lykaon? Mercenaries attacked me at his home.”

“It’s your own fault, misthios. Everyone knows you go rush straight to him, like a snake striking a mouse. I’m surprised it's taken those mercenaries this long to track you down.”

“Just tell me of Lykaon. Is he here?”

Kassandra would never forgive herself if the price on her head meant losing him.

Agave continued her angry rant. “Ever since you arrived, ships are sunk, politicians disappear, holy sites desecrated, and warehouses looted. You have brought a curse to Phokis, a plague of death and loss.”

“Enough Agave!” Lykaon stepped out of the door and Kassandra wanted to dissolve with relief. He continued, “It isn’t Kassandra’s fault that there is a war going on or that bad things happen to good people. Don’t blame her for the whims of the gods.”

Lykaon’s gaze dropped to the arrow wound on her arm. “Kassandra, you’re injured. Let me help.”

She blinked and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She let him pull her inside and down onto a worn carpet. The feel of his hand on her arm grounded her and she finally felt the tension in her body drop.

In the lamp light, he examined her wound. “Thank the gods it’s not serious. I thought they’d kill you for sure. I barely made it out before they arrived.” The edge in his voice made her realize that he’d been as worried for her as she’d been for him.

She blustered, “You don’t have to worry about me. I know how to handle myself.”

He finished binding her wound but did not let go of her arm. “I can’t help it.” He looked up into her eyes, “Kassandra, must you make your living as a mistios? Surely you needn’t earn your living by killing others? You know you can stay with me.”

She pulled away, “Lykaon, I understand that you care about me, but there is honor in battle, and good pay. And I am good at it.”

“Even if you are talented, you are not a god, able to plunder and kill without consequence. You cannot take so many lives, so many fates, into your own hands without divine notice. One day your deeds will catch up to you.”

“How can you say that? Does healing not affect a person’s fate? Should you give up medicine or not bind a wound if that changes a person’s life against the will of the gods? We all have the power to shape the world and our fates.”

He looked at her with disappointment, “Our professions are not the same. Killing people is different from healing them.”

“My point is that we cannot leave everything to the gods. That is no way to live.”

He looked down at the floor and pulled his hand from her arm. It felt like the cold rush of water when she dove into the sea and she let out a quick breath.

He looked back up at her and said quietly, “But it is a way to get killed.”

_Did Lykaon mean her or him?_

Guilt surged through her again and she stood abruptly. She took a deep breath and made her decision. “I think it would be best if I stop coming to Phokis. I have business in Athens.”

“Kassandra, I didn’t mean --”

“I should go.”

As she left, she told herself it was better this way. She didn’t need a port in the storm, she could weather the chaos and survive on her own.

***

After leaving Phokis, she threw herself into her work like a javelin at a wild boar. She picked up every job from every notice board, said ‘yes’ to every merchant who needed an item delivered, and eagerly took down every mercenary who crossed her path.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Barnabas asked as she returned to the Andrestia at midnight and set a course for Kos.

“No, I don’t eat or shit either.”

Barnabas chuckled, “But you do need company. Why don’t you go to Phokis anymore?”

She frowned. “Because I have to help Herakles save democracy, keep Phoebe out of trouble, and find all the cult members before they kill my family, not to mention take care of an ever growing crew. You’re the one who had me promise to find them a new figurehead by the solstice.”

“Hah,” Barnabas let out a laugh, “I don’t know which is more driven, you or an arrow shot from Artemis’s bow.”

Kassandra’s mind strayed to her carefree days on Phokis. Was it so long ago that she would drop everything to explore a cave or dive to the bottom of a lagoon, just because Ikaros had spotted something shiny? Once, she wasted a whole day hunting goats for skins. And of course, the precious time she’d spent in Lykaon’s arms.

_No, I will not think of him anymore._

He mind refused and she started seeing Lykaon everywhere. A man walking along the road had his exact same build and gait, but up close she could see it was someone else. The next day, she noticed farmer near a silo who had Lykaon’s exact same beard and clothes, but a different face. Soon, she started seeing glimpses of him in almost all the young men in Greece, down to the same spray of dark hair across their chests. Was she going mad or were these vision of him an omen?

When she flinched at the sight of a handsome bearded merchant at the Port of Piraeus, Barnabus asked, “Is something troubling you Kassandra? You seem… on edge lately.”

“I keep thinking I see someone I know, someone I haven’t seen in a while, but then, when I get closer, I realize it isn’t him. It is like my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

“I am no soothsayer, but I’d say getting false visions, glimpses of someone who isn’t really there, is an omen. It can mean one of two things.”

“What two things?”

Barnabas frowned. “I’ve heard of stories of shades who walk the land, unable to pay Charon the fee to enter the underworld. Unsatisfied with their death, they haunt the living. Perhaps this person who you think you see is someone who is dead, and is seeking you out for payment.”

Kassandra reeled in horror. “Dead? No. It can’t be.” She imagined Lykaon killed by a mercenary, by a blade that had been meant for her, his body limp and his blood pooling around a cypress tree. Should she have stayed closer to protect him? Was this her punishment for being impious? Guilt stabbed at her and she shook her head. “No, that cannot be. It just cannot. What is the other possibility?”

Herodotus shrugged, “That you are in love.”

A new pain pressed into her. Not of guilt, but of regret. Being away from him for so long was driving her mad. Why had she thought she could give up the feel Lykaon’s tongue sailing down her throat, his hands navigating her hips, or his hand ramming her to a raging climax? Was she forever to look for him in attractive young men across the world and never be satisfied? 

The uncertainty of Lykaon’s fate overwhelmed her. 

“Whether he is alive or dead, I have to return to Phokis. If he is haunting me, I need to make amends and ease his journey to the underworld. If not… I can put my mind at ease.”

Would it be so terrible to visit Lykaon every now and then? She could be more careful when she visited the Chora of Delphi and not let anyone see her enter his home. If she could slip in and out of a well-guarded Spartan magistrate’s home as silent as a shadow, surely she could go unnoticed to his home. 

She gave the order to return to Phokis. 

_Aphrodite, if you are listening, let the omen be one of love._  


  
***

Kassandra had a harder time getting answers in the Chora of Delphi than she had anticipated. Lykaon’s home was shuttered and barred. Ikaros looked far and wide, but didn’t spot him. No one in the town would speak to her about the him. They only muttered and turned away when she asked what had happened to the physician. Finally, she went to Agave’s house.

“Mithios, what are you doing here? Come to bring more misfortune to our town?”

“Where is your brother, Agave? His home is empty and no one will speak to me of him.”

“Of course no one will speak to you. You’re the reason our town is cursed with wild beasts and bandits.”

Rage filled Kassandra and she drew her blade “If you don’t tell me what happened to Lykaon, I will gut you like a fish.”

“He left after the new moon. He was tired of hearing everyone blame you for the problems in the town. Since he left, things are even worse.”

Kassandra put away her weapon. Hope mingled with uncertainty. Lykaon was alive, or at least, she could still believe he was. “Where did he go?”

“Perhaps we can help each other,” Agave offered. “I’ll tell you where Lyakon went if you help the town. A pack of wolves has been terrorizing the area. Children are being snatched off the roads. Only yesterday, the weaver’s little son was dragged from the olive grove by a wolf.”

“You want me to save the child?”

“No, I want you to kill the wolves.”

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

Kassandra had little trouble finding the wolf den and killing the alpha wolf and the rest of the pack. She took their hides and pried loose handful of wolf fangs as proof. When she returned to Agave’s house, the sun was setting behind the mountains giving the air a warm bronze glow.

“You killed all the wolves?” Agave asked.

“Every last one.”

“Then I’ll tell you, Lykaon went to Argos to learn from Hippokrates the Impious.”

Kassandra turned away, on a familiar ground now that her mission was clear. She would find Lykaon and when she did, she would never lose track of him again.  


***

Perched on a stone pedestal, Kassandra swore as her volley of arrows struck a passing pair of priests, instead of the Spartan captain. A warning sounded inside her mind. She knew that if she killed any more civilians, she’d be labeled a murderer. She already had Phaedra the Tooth Gnasher on her tail. The middle of Argos was no place collect bounty hunters. She considering trying to finish off the captain and then flee, but the priests has spotted her and were coming at her, daggers in hand. She made up her mind, turned and ran.

She rounded a corner onto the agora, looking for a safe place to hide. No scrub bushes, no walls, no wagons, only a wide open stone courtyard. Now what? There was nothing to do but keep running. 

As she ran for a cluster of buildings at the end of the agora, something hard struck her shoulder and noxious cloud of stinging air blossomed around her. She stumbled and coughed, unable to keep from breathing in the sharp fumes. Her eyes began to water and she could barely see where she was going. Another plume of poisonous dust landed on the ground in front of her and she inhaled another lungful of poisonous air. She felt her energy drain as her desperation grew.

_Hestia, goddess of the hearth, if you are listening, lead me to safety._

Kassandra turned down an alley and ducked into a open door. She dropped to her knees behind a wooden screen, coughing and hacking. Nausea tore at her stomach. Her mouth, nose, and lungs were burning, like her body was being consumed, from the inside out. 

“The Eagle Bearer went over there,” someone called from outside.

She kept as still as she could, but the desire to cough was almost overwhelming. Blinking back tears, she looked around for a back door or a window to climb out. Nothing. 

She was trapped. 

A figure stepped out of the shadows, moving to the entrance of the building, and called out, “She went up there, onto the terrace.” 

Kassandra knew that voice. Lykaon.

Relief washed over her as she heard her pursuers run past the house, calling out, “I don’t see her,” and, “She got away.”

Then, firm hands were on her shoulders and Lykaon was saying, “Kassandra, I can’t believe it’s really you. But, you’re bleeding.” He was pulling at the straps of her breast plate, removing her armor.

She tried to explain that it wasn’t her blood, but all she could do was cough and gag.

“Smells like mustard seed,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

She tried to see what he was doing, when a stronger wave of nausea hit her and, like an olive spewing its pit, she vomited onto the floor.

“Here, take a breath of this.”

Through a teary haze, Kassandra could smell a sweet, licorice flavor, cutting through the stinging.

“Fennel. It will help counteract the yellow bile brought on by the mustard.”

She took a deep breath, letting the mild fennel scent penetrate her lungs. Gradually, the stinging subsided and her vision cleared. She sat back, collapsing against the wall. She saw Lykaon light an oil lamp and close the door behind him. A warm light fell over the small room.

“Lykaon, I’ve been looking for you.” Then, Kassandra said more softly, “I owe you my life”

“Not me. Thank the gods. They must have sent you to me. But are you hurt? You are covered in blood.” His hands were moving over her, testing and feeling for injuries.

“No, I’m fine.” She looked at the floor. “Sorry I made a mess.”

Lykaon laughed and began cleaning the floor. It was the same easy laugh she had heard so many times in his herb scented home in the Chora of Delphi. A flood of memories swept through her. His chestnut bread, his simple jokes, his body next to hers. His laugh, as much as the fresh scent, cleansed her body. Suddenly, it was like she had not been nearly poisoned to death only moments before. 

Then he wiped her mouth with a cloth and said, “Kassandra, if I got upset every time someone vomited near me, I would make a very poor physician.” 

He must have been satisfied that she was uninjured, because he eased back. His hand trailed down her arm, but she took his hand in hers before he could pull away. She felt her vigor return, like a goblet filled to the brim.

“Can I keep some of this herb with me? Is there anything else I can do to keep from being hurt by poison?”

“You could roar, like a lion,” he said and she looked up to see a smile in the corner of his mouth. 

She remembered the first time they’d met. He’d told a child with a bruise to roar like a lion and scare the hurt away. Even know, he was still the playful man from Phokis, her joy in the midst of suffering, her port in the storm.

He knelt down next to her, looking at his hand in hers and then into her eyes. “Why have you been looking for me?” His gaze was so intense, searching her face.

She lifted her fingers to his cheek, cupping his bearded jaw, and saw his breath quicken. 

He asked, “Are you well enough to --”

Kassandra cut him off, kissing him firmly, feeling the bile in her throat recede and a drumming hunger take its place. 

Lykaon leaned in, and she wrapped her arm around his waist, pulling them closer together. She drank in his kisses, feeling her desire build. 

“I need you Lykaon,” She uttered between kisses. “It’s been too long.”

Then, his mouth moved down. “By all the gods, yes. I’ve missed you,” he murmured into her neck.

She pivoted and rolled, pulling him down to the carpet beside her. He propped himself up on an elbow and laughed in surprise. The sound rolled through her soul, lifting her up like a gentle wave passing under a ship.

Sliding her hand down, under his tunic, she grasped the firmness of his rear. He responded in kind by slipping his free hand over her breast, finding the peak and caressing her nipple. Her body tensed in pleasure. 

_How could I have ever thought to survive without this?_

She began to move against him, rocking and bucking, like a horse fighting a new bridle. Lykaon shifted back and down, moving between her legs. With one hand, he switched to caress her other breast, and with the other, shifted her clothing until he had access to her inner heat. Then she felt his mouth on her, lapping at her hills and valley, stroking her peak, until her pleasure tumbled forth.

Once her cries of release ebbed, he pulled back and asked, “Can I enter you?”

Her mind cleared enough for her to remember when she’d last bled -- twelve days ago. “Not from the front. Better use the back.”

He nodded and reached for a jar of oil. She took some on her hand and began to loosen her hole for him. He watched her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. When she felt ready she nodded and rolled her hips back. He leaned over her with one hand and guided his thick shaft against her oily hole with the other. It only took a few deep strokes, and then he was cringing and stiffening in pleasure.  


  
***

Later, they lay in each others arms. She asked about his studies and he told her about Hippokrates’ theory of the four humors and how he taught that diet, climate, and other exposures could cause disease. Then, she told him about her search for her mother and her quest to seek out and destroy the cult of Kosmos.

“How long can you stay?” he asked.

“Not long. I promised to meet Timoxenos the priest at the giant olive tree at the crossroads.”

He must have seen the regret on her face because he said quickly, “I understand,” and kissed her hand. “Kassandra, I’m sorry about what I said before, that you shouldn’t be a misthios. I know some people deserve to die, even my own grandmother. You have a power, something special, beyond anything I’ve come across.”

“Are you saying I am an instrument of the gods?” 

“Perhaps, but I believe what Hippokrates teaches, that there is much we mortals can do to influence our own lives.”

She stood and let out a breath. “I don’t know if I am an instrument of the gods or the master of my own fate. All I know, is that I do what I do because I must, just as you heal the sick because you must.”

He must have seen the frustration brewing inside her, like a storm on the horizon. He said, “Kassandra, what I’m trying to say, is that I will be whatever you need me to be.”

She relaxed, letting his kindness anchor her soul. 

“I want you to be my port in the storm.”

He gave her a joyous smile and said, “Then we shall take our fates into our own hands and, together, defy the storm around us.”


End file.
